


Ask Again

by Kaile (rcs)



Category: Ragnarok Online
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-07
Updated: 2011-04-07
Packaged: 2017-10-17 17:22:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/179209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rcs/pseuds/Kaile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Secrets are only secrets for so long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ask Again

The sun's just starting to set, the hot breath of Morroc's desert slowly becoming more and more frigid as night falls, as they cross through the badlands. The job was in Morroc's ruins, and had ended late-- later than they'd expected--, but with twenty thousand zeny in the bottom of Achishar's pack and potions of varying sizes and efficacies in Kanan's, it's a success, as they usually manage. But it's not without its toll: every muscle in his body is aching and he's having trouble keeping his eyes open. But he's been more tired before, and he's not going to stop because of such a simple thing, he tells himself.

But when Kanan stumbles, and he looks over to see her practically sleeping on her feet, he rethinks his determination. With both of them this tired, he thinks, it's not safe to continue; they're not close enough to make it within a few more hours.

He doesn't admit it, not even to himself, but he's not really looking forward to being among the hubbub and noise of the guild, either. This past few days, just him and Kanan and the broad wilderness, have been comfortable and quiet and just the littlest bit nervewracking since the realization a few months ago that there was something more than just 'partners' and 'camaraderie' between them, something he wasn't-- and still isn't-- quite able to put his finger on. Something she seems to already know and be comfortable with-- something she seems to be waiting on him to figure out. And he's taking his time about examining it, wondering why it is that little things (watching her plait her hair and tie it out of the way before they get to work, watching her carefully cleaning her guns and hearing her sing quietly to herself as she checks out their gear, crouching beside her as they eye the target, shoulder to shoulder, from behind a rock) have been making him so damnably nervous lately.

So this is likely the last night of that, and he can't fight the pit-of-the-stomach feeling that it's a last chance-- but to do what, exactly? He hopes he can figure it out before the morning as he suggests they break for camp, and while he knows her well enough to know she's about to argue with him over it, he's almost surprised when she reconsiders and agrees, dropping her pack to the sand with a fwump only a little further on, in a small canyon that seems clear of anything dangerous. As the sky begins streaking orange and red, he busies himself digging out firewood and tinder, and she begins setting up a place to sleep. They've camped in the desert before, and they're both aware of the easy drops of temperature the desert gets; the bedrolls are close to one another and they'll sleep like they always have, back-to-back in case something happens.

That's got him nervous, too, but he's too focused on getting this fire going despite the desert wind to really care.

After a short meal-- reheated meat and some strange chickpea mash that the client had given them for the trip home, they're both still exhausted but too riled up to actually sleep, so they strip down to undershirts and socks, using their jackets wrapped around their boots as pillows, and lay out on the bedrolls, listening to the eerie whistle of the wind through the canyon and the far-off howls of desert wolves, the fire crackling and casting a flickering bronzed light over everything. They're quiet, side by side-- they always are-- and usually that's comfortable, but right now there's palpable _something_ and he can tell she's aware of it, too, because she's not breathing like she normally does. And that's about when she interrupts his thoughts.

"...It's been a good mission."

"Mm." He honestly doesn't know what else to say about the whole thing; she's right.

"Not much for accommodations, though, huh?"

He just snorts amusement, acutely aware of her bare arm against his. She's soft, he's almost surprised to note, and what he can see without actually turning his head is paler than he'd expected, freckled lightly and defined. Her hand, splayed on the soft bedroll's fabric, is small-- he remembers when they were first assigned together and she was still struggling to carry around a rifle with those tiny hands, trying to absorb the recoil with her whole body. He doesn't remember when she picked up revolvers instead, but they suit her better: small, quick, and still powerful.

They lapse into silence before he decides that while silence is all good and fine-- is in fact usually better and finer than anything else--, they need to get past whatever this is and get some rest. If that involves small talk, he'll suffer-- though with her, it's not so much suffering as it is... tolerating fondly. She's got a nice voice, and interesting turns of speech he only ever hears from Payonites. She's one of the few guild members who grew up in their homeland long enough to cement those turns of phrase, and as Payon is a very eloquent place, he doesn't mind hearing them.

"This'll be the last night like this," he offers, and he can feel her sigh with relief.

"Yeah. Tomorrow night, we'll be in our beds instead of our rolls."

"Are you looking forward to it?" As he asks, he realizes that the question's loaded-- that while there's a polite answer, he's hoping she isn't polite this time around. She must have figured it out, too, because she tilts her head and looks at him, her 'thinking' expression on her face. He likes that expression the best of all of hers, save for her smile; she crinkles her nose a little and the tip of her tongue peeks from her mouth and she looks.... well, cute.

Though 'cute' isn't enough of a word for it.

"To be honest?" His heart leaps at that choice of words. "Not entirely. It's been a nice mission, and I... usually like roughing it with you. It's quiet. Besides," and she sweeps an arm up to the sky. "Look at the stars-- you can't see those inside."

"Mm."

"I don't know when we'll have another mission we can just... spend the night looking up at the stars like this."

The breeze kicks in, a little cool, and with absolute aplomb she shuffles a little closer-- and turns a little pink, though he might be imagining it. Unthinkingly, he slides an arm over her shoulders, not wanting her to catch chill. "You can still see them from home," he reminds her.

"It's not the same. The truth is..." She's hesitating, and he looks at her, glad that in firelight everything looks warmer. "It's kind of hard to enjoy this with anyone else. I mean, I've been almost everywhere with you. Anyone else just feels... loud." It's an honest opinion, and yet his heart flutters at it, and when she leans against him, yawning, he's almost caught off guard by the honest affection he has for this girl who's been confusing him for so long. Her hair is soft against the inside of his forearm, and though they've been walking in the desert all day, she's still very pretty to him, particularly in the dwindling firelight.

"Well," he finds himself saying. "If you want..."

"Yes?" There's something hopeful in her voice that makes him confused all over again.

"I know a good place. I'll show you, when we get back and rest."

"That'd be nice." Another stretch of silence, this time more nervewracking than before. "Ach?"

"Mm?"

"You know a lot about the stars, right?" They've had this conversation before; he's an expert at night navigation and has more than once kept them out of harm's way using it.

"Mm."

"What constellation is that?" She points, but he can't quite tell where she's pointing.

"Which?"

"That one!" Again, he can't tell-- and she sighs tolerantly and flops backwards onto the rolls, dragging him with her. "Up there."

He sees it now. The Hunter, the three-star belt that his father always told him was the stars that were in the sky when he was born. Lying back, with Kanan propped on an elbow beside him, he tells her so.

"The Hunter, huh? I was born under the Crown, in late spring." Her voice turns dreamy. "Isn't it strange, Ach? Every day, there are so many babies born. How is it that of all those stars, we ended up here under this one, and how amazing is it that it's _us_? I mean, if things had gone differently, you could be here with... with anyone else." She looks at him. "I mean, it's not like everything that happened to bring us here was good... but if I had to be here with anyone, I'm glad it's you." She sounds sleepier, and the sleepiness makes her sound sweet.

He turns his head and locks eyes with her, hers heavy-lidded dove, his slightly panicking pale gray, and he's stricken by how close together they are here-- a distance that before would have been perfectly fine now has him torn between fleeing and moving closer, and he can't tell how something would be both too close and not close enough, but he knows that this distance is that thing that he'd been feeling in the pit of his stomach, the choice for that chance. And the sentiment she's giving, is it some sort of hint? He can't figure her out. He can't even figure _this_ out. But it's a choice and he decides that he's going to follow his gut-- if it's a bad decision, it's the last night, and he's sure Miru won't begrudge him asking for a different partner. He closes that distance little by little, barely thinking about it, and he only really snaps out of the instinct when he's pulling back, the warmth of her mouth still on his.

And then he gets what had him so nervous, at the same time that he realizes what just happened, and if she didn't notice him coloring before she's probably aware of it now. But she didn't pull away, and she didn't move-- for a moment there's just silence and the wind and a deer-in-the-headlights feeling that has him breaking eye contact and rolling onto his side. "We should probably sleep," he manages around his heart in his throat. And just before he loses vision of her entirely, he knows she looks confused; her voice only reinforces that, all confusion and a little bit of nerves.

"Y-Yeah." She rolls onto her side, back-to-back with him, and they both lay there in the dark, silent and palpably nervous. And when they both roll to look at one another (in unison; it shouldn't have been surprising), there's a sense of 'this is something changing' when they're locked in that silence again, only this time eye-to-eye.

"I'm sorry--" he begins, just as she manages to say the same thing. For once, though, it's him that takes the initiative. "I should have asked. I just wasn't thinking--"

"I would have said yes," she manages, and he's struck silent again at the implications this has. She giggles nervously, and looks at him through her lashes. "I've liked you for so long, but it's never been a good time-- and I didn't think you noticed; I mean, there were always those town girls around, and it's taken you this long to--" And then she pauses at his expression, looking flustered. "You didn't know?"

He does know, though he didn't before, and there's a feeling there when he examines it-- a good feeling, a great feeling. It reminds him of the first time his father taught him to shoot-- a wonder, almost, and a sense of _right_. Like this was why their two stars were here in the first place. Why the mission had gone long.

He wonders how much of a hand the Gods really have in their lives, sometimes, but right now he doesn't need to wonder at all as he thinks about the next words to come out of his mouth.

"...Suppose I were to ask again."


End file.
